


Kidnapped

by CrimsonWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry ends up as an adrenaline junkie, Humor, Oops, Probably slightly cracky, escape artist!Harry, friendly!Petunia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-10-28 11:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonWriter/pseuds/CrimsonWriter
Summary: In which being kidnapped is viewed as a normal, if annoying, event.





	1. Breaking Out

The first time he'd been kidnapped, Harry had been four. Later, he would learn that they were called Death Eaters. At the time, he had just wanted to get away from the people in the black dresses and scary theatre masks. He had wanted to go back to the quiet comfort of darkness in his cupboard. He was bound hand and foot, and gagged because he was crying so bad.

And then, he wasn't there anymore.

And the Death Eaters had been stuck staring at an empty space, for Harry had accidentally taken the chair with him.

It had taken Harry four months to get back to Privet Drive, and only because Santa came and got him.

Why was Santa wearing purple, anyway?

* * *

 

After his first kidnapping, Petunia had sat down with the solemn little boy and instructed him to memorize their address and their phone number, in case it happened again. As he worked around the house, Petunia would surprise him with asking the address and the phone number until he knew them better than his own name.

The second time he was kidnapped, the Death Eaters were a bit peeved with him escaping them, and tied him up so much that he looked like a badly done rope mummy. Large green eyes peered out fearfully from between rope layers. Then one of them pulled a knife, and Harry panicked, and the Death Eaters were all blown back. The ropes frayed at Harry's touch, and he was out of there like a shot while the Death Eaters were still recovering.

When Harry found a phone, he searched the ground for a coin to use, eventually found one, and called his Aunt.

"Aunt 'Tunia?" Harry asked smally.

"Oh thank god," Petunia sighed. "Harry, can you tell me where you are? I'll come pick you up."

"I—I dunno," he whimpered. "I want to go home."

"Harry, are there people around?" Petunia coached gently.

"Yeah."

"I want you to ask one of them where you are, alright? Don't hang up the phone, though, okay, Harry?"

"Yes, Aunt 'Tunia," Harry said dutifully, and tugged on a woman's skirt. "Hi my name's Harry it's nice to meet you where am I?"

This was all said in one breath, coming out very fast as the woman looked at him, wide eyed. Harry gulped.

It took a while, but Petunia came and got him.

* * *

 

When Harry turned six, Petunia enrolled him in self-defense classes. The kidnappings weren't getting any better, and Petunia knew that eventually Harry's kidnappers would seal all of the magical defenses that he kept coming up with. At least four times a year, Harry would disappear, despite the protections on the home. And Harry would keep coming back—sometimes wounded, sometimes laughing so hard he could hardly stand.

"You killed my lord," the Blond (as Harry had taken to calling him—he had seen the Blond almost every time he had been kidnapped since he was six) said lowly, coldly. "I will raise him once more, and I will deliver you to Him, for him to do with you what he wishes."

Harry leaned forward, green eyes meeting grey. "Might I know your lord's name?"

The Blond leaned closer. "No one dares to speak His name."

Harry leaned into the ropes binding his chest. The two were almost touching noses. "It seems that I killed your lord. I want to know who I have bragging rights over." And, taking the lot of Death Eaters by surprise, he leaned even further into the ropes, lifting the chair off the ground and springing into the air—high, higher than he would have been able to do even untied to a chair—flipping, and smashing the chair into kindling on top of the Blond.

The ropes were useless without the support of the chair, and Harry flung them away.

After that incident, Harry had practically danced into the house, declaring that he was some kind of ninja-thing and Petunia just about had a stroke because _damnit, she wasn't supposed to be laughing at a person who got bashed with a chair with a child in it_.

* * *

"Why was I sent to my relatives?" Harry asked curiously.

"It was the safest place I could put you," Dumbledore said softly.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Safe? Wow. I'd hate to see what your definition of dangerous is, then."

He turned to go, and Dumbledore called him back. "Harry, what do you mean?"

Harry looked startled. "Professor, since you put me there, I would have thought that you knew. I've been kidnapped fifty times over. I'm used to dealing with my fame because I am the most kidnapped person in history. There have been bets on when the next person abducts me, how long it will be before I'm back at my Aunt's house, and whether or not myself or my kidnappers have been injured in my escape. A moniker in reference to me is not a new thing. I have different monikers in different worlds, however."

Unflappable Albus Dumbledore stood there, jaw dropped as Harry explained.

Harry shrugged helplessly. "My Aunt has been paid to test security systems before, because I'm kidnapped so often."

* * *

"Albus Dumbledore!" McGonagall hissed. "You _never_ checked on him?!"

"I did not want to interfere with the way Petunia was raising him," Dumbledore said weakly.

"That boy has been kidnapped so many times that he sees it as a _game!_ A _GAME!_ How _dare_ you not check up on him!" McGonagall yelled.

Dumbledore cringed.

* * *

"Hello, Aunt!" Harry said cheerfully in the middle of May. "Don't mind me. Has Hedwig arrived back here?"

Petunia sighed. "Kidnapped again? Yes, she's in your room, snoozing."

"Yep!" Harry said, taking the stairs two at a time.

"How long?"

"Eh, a couple of minutes," Harry hollered down. "Really inept. I didn't even knock them out, I just spun them around until they were too dizzy to get back up."

Less than half an hour later, Minerva McGonagall appeared with a faint pop in the middle of the living room.

"Hi, Professor!" Harry greeted.

"Are you hurt, Potter?" she asked quickly, her eyes scanning him.

"Oh, no, Professor," he assured her. "They were quite inept."

She looked at him, dry. "That was a professionally done portkey that had to have two parts for it to go off and ripped you through Hogwarts's wards like they were tissue paper."

"Exactly!" Harry said. "They didn't knock me out, they didn't tie me up, they didn't have someone waiting to do those things competently when I arrived, and they were so incompetent that I didn't even have to knock them out to escape."

She took a deep breath, shut her eyes, and let it out. It was part frustration, part mirth. Harry Potter sounded _petulant_ , like his favorite toy had been broken.

"Take my arm, Potter," she instructed brusquely.

When they appeared at the edge of the wards, she continued. "Your kidnappers have been expelled, by the way."

He looked startled. "Oh. Why?"

"Potter, it is illegal to kidnap someone."

"But it was _fun_. No one got hurt, and they actually managed to startle me."

"Potter…"

"Professor, don't expel them. Maybe they'll do a better job next time."

"That's my point, Potter."

"You guys are _boring_ here."

McGonagall choked. "Mr. Potter, we are not here for your entertainment."

"Perhaps not, but you just expelled the only form of fun that I've had in _months_. Flying's cool, but nothing beats breaking out of a heavily secured building."

McGonagall closed her eyes.


	2. Breaking Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third year's escape plan gets solved in a much more mundane fashion. Breaking _in_ isn't too different than breaking _out_ , after all.
> 
> (Buckbeak's execution gets moved to _after_ Sirius's. Just so that you don't get confused.)

"With the dreaded, terrifying—"

"—Sirius Black on the loose, we Weasleys—"

"—are proud (and not to mention excited, Gred)—"

"—to present: the Marauders' Map!"

Harry watched the spiraling black lines in awe, noting the many possible exits out of Hogwarts. "Guys, I mean… I can't…"

"Sure you can, Harrykins!" one of them slung an arm across Harry's shoulders.

"And it's not like it isn't to a good cause." The other, sandwiching Harry, slung another arm across his shoulders.

"Besides, we've already memorized the thing."

Harry reluctantly folded the Map. "Honestly, as amazing piece of magic this is, this is pretty much useless for me, guys. Keep it. Pull pranks. Keep an eye out for Black, though, for me, would you?"

The Twins exchanged looks over Harry's head. "Harry…"

"Let me put it this way, boys," Harry said quietly, wrapping his arms around their waists and pulling them a little closer so that no one else overheard. "I'm sure that I could be a dab hand at breaking and entering if I so wished, but right now I'm used to breaking and _exiting_. The first time I broke out of Malfoy Manor was when I was six, I doubt— _highly_ doubt—that Black could do better."

They looked at each other again. "Fair enough," they conceded.

McGonagall saw them conspiring in the corner and shot them a worried look. Harry saw that look and grinned at her. The Twins' eyes gleamed with mirth.

"Oh," Harry continued softly. "I'd prefer that my…extracurricular activities aren't widely published in the Wizarding World. Hermione and Ron know, and so do McGonagall and Dumbledore, but that's it."

"You got it, mate," one of them said.

* * *

"So, we have a wizard to be Kissed in less than half an hour and a hippogriff to be executed for a scratch in forty-five minutes," Harry summed up.

"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "The only way to rescue both—"

"Oh no, I can get Black," Harry disagreed. "We'll meet you at Hagrid's. Hang out around there, but stay hidden. I'll find you."

And with that, he seemed to vanish into a wall.

Hermione Granger stared after her best friend and muttered to an unconscious Ron: "What's the point of staying hidden if you can find me?"

Meanwhile, Harry was navigating the walls of Hogwarts until he reached the Gryffindor dorm room and retrieved all of his tools that he had picked up over the years: rope, football cleats, a homemade grappling hook, and several other things.

He dropped like a stone out one of Gryffindor Tower's many windows and stopped just short of the ground thanks to his Firebolt, sending the broom back to its spot in the broom shed with a flick of his wand and a whispered incantation.

He grabbed his jar of…well, he never did figure out what exactly it was, but it was extremely sticky and very effective at helping him hold on.

Harry grabbed the end of his grappling hook and tossed it to a second floor window, and Harry took a running jump and swung, gripping the rope tightly as his momentum carried himself into the air, a wild, reckless grin stretching across his face. He landed neatly on another, nearby second-story windowsill.

He disengaged the hook, reeled it in, and then shot it to a fourth-story window, and repeated the process, hauling himself up to the third story. He then halved his rope length and proceeded to swing himself around to the tower that Black was being held prisoner in and opening the stained glass window.

" _Black!_ " Harry hissed.

"Harry!" Sirius cried out. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, idiot," Harry said exasperatedly. "We have a ride out of Hogwarts ready-made for you, but you have to get out of this place first. Here are some gloves, here's the rope, wrap your legs around it and try not to break them on the landing." And Harry booted him out the window.

Damn, wizards screamed like little girls.

* * *

The Dementor preceded Cornelius Fudge, Lucius Malfoy, and Albus Dumbledore into the room where Black had been held.

What they saw, however, was an empty room filled with emerald green sparks that seemed more like lightning bugs than sparks and the echoes of a wild laugh.

Lucius Malfoy shook with rage. " _Potter…_ "

* * *

Harry and a large black dog that glared at the teen every once in a while stole across the grounds of Hogwarts, headed towards Hagrid's hut. Unerringly, Harry made his way towards Hermione's "hiding" spot: behind some scraggily things that didn't deserve the name of trees.

"You picked a half-arsed hiding spot," Harry commented, coming up behind her.

She shrieked, whirling around. "Har--!"

He clapped a hand over her mouth. "Do you _want_ every living being in the area to know where you are? No? Then _shut it_."

She blinked, stunned at her friend's harsh words, and then spotted the big black dog with him. "You got him out already? How on _earth_ …?"

He grinned mischievously at her. "Told you I could do it. Haven't had to break into something in like forever. Not even out of something since first year and McGonagall expelled the only form of fun I had."

Hermione gave her friend a look that left no doubts as to her belief in his sanity. Or, in this case, her _dis_ belief. Sirius whined, tongue lolling in a doggy grin.

"Shush, I'm working on getting you out," Harry said absently, pulling out binoculars and looking for visitors at Hagrid's hut. "Okay…run…right… _now._ "

Harry broke into a sprint for the hut and the fenced-off vegetable patch, ducking under the ivy that obscured the door into the garden, and stopped immediately inside the doorway, bowing. He felt both Hermione and Sirius beside him, copying him.

After a moment that sounded like a day, Buckbeak bowed back. Harry rose slowly, murmuring softly to the animal what the plan was. When Harry got out the rope fashioned into a makeshift bridle for the hippogriff and there wasn't a protest, Harry slipped it over the animal's head and handed a human Sirius the reins.

"Go. I'll keep in touch."

Sirius shot him a crooked grin. "Should I keep my bedroom window open?"

"Shut up and get going, otherwise I'll fulfill that offer."

Sirius left, leading the hippogriff.

"And you and I," Harry murmured, slipping out his Cloak and wrapping it around the pair of them with a deft twist of his wrist, "are going to disappear."

Not a moment too soon did they duck back under the ivy as the back door of Hagrid's hut slammed open with a _furious_ Lucius Malfoy roaring his displeasure for every hearing thing within a mile to hear.

Hermione twisted around in the confines of the cloak to stare at Harry's rather viscous grin towards Malfoy's rage.

A whirlwind of passages later, and Harry and Hermione were back in their beds in the infirmary with no one the wiser of their twenty-minute adventure, and no sign that they had ever been gone.

It was a mystery that no one but Harry James Potter would ever know the entire story to.


	3. Fourth Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end-of-the-year disaster goes a little less violently and a lot more sneakily than the original.

They touched the Cup, and with a whirl of color, they were someplace else.

Harry drew his wand as soon as he saw the graveyard and not the modified Quidditch stadium. Cedric pulled his wand as well.

"Where are we?" Harry whispered.

"Little Hangleton Graveyard," Cedric said. "Do you know where Little Hangleton is?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope."

Then they saw the bulky figure walking towards them. "Kill the spare."

Harry swore and knocked Cedric towards the Cup. A blazing, crackling green light zoomed by Cedric's arm and missed him by millimeters. The older teen tripped and practically fell onto the portkey.

Harry was left alone in the graveyard.

His scar ached something fierce.

"Are ya crazy? Watch where you point that thing," Harry mock-chided, bouncing out of the way of a stunning spell.

_How to get out, how to get out…_

He dodged two binding spells, tripped and fell on his face which allowed him to 'dodge' another stunner, and he just barely didn't make it out of the way of the third stunning spell.

His world sank into darkness.

* * *

 

When he woke, it was to Voldemort poking him like he was a half-dead, though still intriguing, bug. His scar flared with excruciating pain.

"What the—the _hell_ are you doing alive?" Harry rasped, lurching away from the prodding finger and scrabbling away in a crab-walk position. Surprisingly, he wasn't bound.

"Ah, little Potter," Voldemort said, laughing lowly and straightening. "How amusing you are."

"Normally, I would take that as a compliment. From you, though, I don't think that it was intended as such."

_Okay, so I have no supplies, probably no wand, and Voldemort and whoever was shooting at me and Cedric earlier watching my every move._

_Not a good situation, Potter._

"How astute," said Voldemort. He waved his hand airily, summoning his pet Death Eater. With a start, Harry realized that it was Wormtail. He was missing a hand for unknown reasons, and bleeding profusely.

" _Wormtail_ ," Harry growled. "How convenient."

Pettigrew gibbered even more.

Voldemort looked at Harry curiously. "You sound like you hate Peter even more than myself, Potter."

"You're obvious. My parents knew that you were gunning for them. I might not like terrorists, and I definitely am not appreciative of making me the last of my family—or at least, any family that I care to claim—but I absolutely _hate_ traitorous _rats_ that made it _possible_ in the first place for you to kill _my parents_ who _trusted him_ and got me shipped off to _magic-hating Muggles_. Xenophobic bastards."

Wormtail gibbered and stuttered and stammered until Harry kicked him solidly in the solar plexus. Then he was more worried about recovering his breath.

"Oh, shut up," Harry sneered. "Your pathetic gibbering is going to get your miniscule brain dribbled out through your nose one of these days. No _wonder_ Voldemort uses the Cruciatus on you."

Voldemort eyed him like he had just done a backflip for no reason: with surprise, fascination, and faint confusion.

Harry glared at him. " _Now_ what are you going to do? String me up by my toes and laugh maniacally like Filch wants to do?"

"Sir—" Wormtail gasped out. "Sir, there's something—"

Harry considered him for half a second, realized that his buddies were probably people that had kidnapped him before, and kicked him again in the plexus to keep him quiet. He promptly rolled out of the way of an almost-absentminded _Cruciatus_ from Voldemort.

"Wormtail," Voldemort said, seeming to roll the word around in his mouth before he actually said it. "Your arm."

Pettigrew fell to his knees, offering the damaged limb and gasping out, "Thank you, master—"

"The other one, fool!"

Harry subtly scanned the surrounding area for his wand while whatever was going on was going on, or basically anything useful. There were a lot of elaborate gravestones. Normally he wouldn't even think of using a memorial for his own gain, but when his own gain was his _life_ …

A small color change would enable an easy blending if he had to, something that was kinda doable without his wand. The overcast day played in his favor: no sharp shadows to give himself away.

The bunch of loud POPs broke into his thoughts.

Men dressed in dark gray robes with white masks appeared, arranging themselves in a large circle with pieces missing.

"Ah," Voldemort said, as if he wasn't expecting them. "My loyal servants."

_Arse_ , Harry thought.

He went on to monologue, giving names (brilliant idea) and letting Harry generally be able to give a crap ton of information to anyone who asked after he escaped.

Then, of course, Voldemort drew attention to him, still sitting on the ground. Harry grinned maliciously when three quarters of them shifted uneasily.

"Potter," Voldemort said levelly, not missing the exchange, "what is the history between you and my servants?"

Harry's eyes strayed to the Death Eaters. "They started kidnapping me when I was quite young, in an attempt to please you when you came back. After the first couple of times with some very large incidents of accidental magic to aid my escape, I ended up getting self-defense training and getting more creative with my escapes. Malfoy, for instance, I brained with the chair that I was tied to when I was six."

Then he bolted like a bat out of hell—not towards the entrance, but deeper into the cemetery.

"FIND HIM!"

Harry skidded to a stop and ducked under the arms of a protective angel, urging his agitated magic to turn his skin, hair, and clothes the color of the surrounding stone. He closed his eyes as his saw his skin start to bloom gray, ducking his head as if in prayer. Footsteps pounded, and he stood stock-still, not even daring to breathe.

They stopped suddenly, then continued on. He listened hard for a moment, and drew in a deep, silent breath, cracking open one eye. Seeing that it was clear for the immediate surroundings, he looked around for a fence that he could hop over.

There!

To his immediate right, perhaps fifteen or twenty gravestones over. He scanned the elaborate markers for something else that he could easily add himself to.

He peeled himself off of the angel's front, slinking quietly three graves down before kneeling before the specter of Death, the stone robe and frankly scary-looking scythe towering over him. He slammed his eyes shut as a Death Eater looked his way.

Two Death Eaters approached; he recognized the voices when one said, "Fuckin' creepy," and the other said, "The wards haven't even gone off and he's quite clearly _gone_."

_Wards_ , Harry groaned mentally, glad that he stopped and hid rather than immediately bolting for the edge.

"How th' hell does 'e do that?" the first one asked.

"Merlin, who knows?" said the second one.

"Why would anyone want Death on 'is gravestone?" the first one said, changing the subject.

"Muggles 're weird," the second one said, an element of a shrug in his voice.

_Oooooo, crap. They're looking at me. They look too long and they'll realize that the "statue" is way too detailed. And familiar._

They didn't linger, thankfully. Harry cracked open an eye to scan his immediate surroundings, and _slowly_ turned his head to look behind himself. No one was watching, so he slid off the side, keeping low, and bolted another six graves down, climbing into a weeping statue's lap and watching his dark grey skin lighten to match the lighter stone, sprawling artfully, as though dead.

He waited for a long while before a solitary set of footsteps wandered by. At least five minutes ticked by, and he could hear the Death Eaters getting more restless with every second. He cracked open an eye, looked to his left—he had switched sides to be looking at the nearest fence—and he had another seven gravestones to get past before he could hop the fence and trigger the wards.

Hopefully, he would catch them off guard when he finally triggered them.

"IMBECILES! _HOMONIUM REVELIO_!"

_Ha_ , Harry thought, curling in his feet and head and keeping himself sheltered by the stone. It was the third time he'd dodged the magic. Unfortunately for Voldemort, sacred stone was impenetrable by magic. Anyone hiding behind—or in front, as it were—said stone would be invisible. Of course, sacred stone was sacred stone, regardless if it was Muggle or Magic. That Voldemort wouldn't realize this, being a xenophobe, was always a plus.

Then, very quietly, Harry heard, "What the hell?" and he had to resist the urge to stuff his fist in his mouth to muffle his laughter.

He opened his eyes, looked both ways, and bolted for the last gravestone, keeping low to the ground. Harry had to scramble to get himself situated, skin growing darker with the dark stone. Voldemort looked his way as Harry's eyes shut and he settled in against another angel.

Again, very quietly, Harry heard, "I saw movement."

_Run now, or run later?_ Harry thought to himself. His magic spun angrily. _Run later, then._

Half a dozen footsteps trotted over to his general area. He forced his breaths to come out shallowly and silently, chest moving imperceptibly. His heart rate slowed to a light pitter-patter than the _thump-thump-thump-thump_ that it had been.

_I really, really don't want to have to fight my way out of this one,_ Harry thought. _I'll lose. Badly._

"Tell me," Voldemort said. He sounded like he was close enough for Harry to reach out and touch, and Harry just barely controlled his flinch. "Is Potter always this elusive?"

"He's been known to slip from wards before," one of the Death Eaters admitted like it was dragged from him.

"And bindings, magical or physical," another said.

Voldemort hummed. "Clever, Potter."

Harry dearly wanted to say something smart and scare the skins off of all of them. Something along the lines of: _I've had some practice_. Or, _Is that grudging admiration I hear?_ Perhaps even something casually cheeky, like: _Hi._

He refrained, though.

His muscles began to cramp after five minutes of holding completely still. After ten, Voldemort wandered off to go do…whatever. After twenty, there were shooting pains going up Harry's left leg, but he held still. After twenty-five minutes, Voldemort announced that they would find Potter later.

(That Potter would come to Voldemort, as he had his wand.)

And then they left. Harry stayed still for another three minutes, though, just to make sure that it truly wasn't a trap to lure him out. Then he cracked one eye, looked around as much as possible without moving, then opened both eyes, looked around some more, and then carefully turned around. He cringed silently as his muscles protested moving after such a long time of being locked into place.

After a minute of careful contemplation of the statues, to make sure that Voldemort hadn't pulled the same trick that Harry had, he slid from under the angel's arms with a thankful pat. His skin, clothes, and hair returned to their normal color.

Harry walked out the front entrance of the graveyard, and called collect for Aunt Petunia to come pick him up from his latest disaster.

**Author's Note:**

> Four chapters: one for pre-Hogwarts and yr1, one for the end-of-the-year-drama in yr3, one for the end-of-the-year-drama in yr4, and one for the end-of-the-year-drama in yr5. Voldemort may or may not be actually killed, but he isn't the main focus of this fic.


End file.
